Diaries of the Dead
by kiss from a rose
Summary: No heroes. No Ups to every down. What life is really like. How can one cope?
1. Default Chapter

This is a new series I'm writing, till I get SS back on track. This is how I think Life actually would be. Not all the ups and hereos always win. So, this first chapter is about Inuyasha. The next well perferably be about Miroku. And so and so forth. Read and Review. Please? =( BTW, this is Blood Rayne ^^; ****************************************************************************  
  
I don't think that I have an unnatural fascination with death. Neither do I believe that I am suicidal. This is merely my way of dealing with the events of the past few years.  
  
Once upon a time, I was a happy lad. I knew who I was, I knew what I was. I had an idea of where my life was leading me, and I knew the route that my life would take to get there. The details of the trip didn? bother me, because I was sure that it would all sort itself out. I had strength, I had my faith, and I had a mother that I loved unconditionally.  
  
Of course, I wished I was taller, and I wished that I was smarter but neither of those bothered me as much. I was certain that I was better than all the other yahoos in my village, and that I would be rich and successful while they would be scrubbing floors. No, I never said that I was modest. I tried to be self-effacing in front of other people, but that didn't change how I felt about things on the inside.  
  
All that changed around puberty.  
  
I changed names numerous time, I fell out of touch with everyone, I had a crush on a girl who wouldn't give me the time of day.I suppose this was bad enough. But then, our house(my mother's and mine) was broken into and burgled twice, once while we were present. I wasnt doing too well at all, and my mother felt that I wasn't living up to my full potential. I, in turn, felt that her demands of me were unrealistic.  
  
Lets face it, I was confused. I was no longer sure of where life was taking me. Events were spiralling out of my control, and that scared me. I spent my ( 13-14) years angry and depressed. I was a powder keg ready to explode.  
  
I fizzled.  
  
Some people turn to drugs, and others to drink . I've always been very clean-cut, and I've never cared for any of the above. Of course, what I wound up doing wasnt much better.  
  
I started keeping a diary, and then, I started cutting myself.  
  
Small cuts, along my forearm. It used to be my wrist, but I moved it down because it was easier to cover. In the five years that I was cutting, my mother noticed them only once, and then too, when they were fresh and swollen, and looked like a rash of some sort.  
  
I was angry and bitter at the world, and He who created it. So, I grew angry at God, too. So, by last year, I lost faith, too. I knew I could never live up to my mothers expectations. And I was no good at keeping friends. So, I decided to kill myself.  
  
It seemed like a rational decision at the time.  
  
I wonder what might have happened if Kikyo and I hadn't come so close. Perhaps I would have chickened out some other way, or perhaps, I would have gone through with it. I honestly can't say. Kikyo never wanted me to discuss it, or even think about it.  
  
No, I don't think that I am suicidal. For the past five or six years, I've wanted to die, and now, all of a sudden, I find that I would like to go on living. And with these thoughts, I think I'd like to take a little nibble of death without doing myself any permanent harm.  
  
Necrophagia. Eat the dead. 


	2. Hangman

Hey, this chapter is about Miroku. And I think this is honestly the way he would kill himself. Simple and yet, complex. R&R PLEASE haha. **************************************************************************** * Chapter 1: Hangman  
  
I knew it had to gone wrong from the moment the chair slipped out of my fingers. It was supposed to be quick, there was supposed to be a sharp jerk, and then, nothing. Sweet oblivion, but not this...  
  
I scrambled desperately with the rope, trying to loosen in, trying to get my head out of the noose. If only I could get free, I could do this again properly! This was no way to die, slowly, suffocating to death, feeling myself die in sections, in easy monthly payments. If I wanted to die slowly, I would have taken anything BUT this.  
  
The rope burned my neck, and for an insane moment, I regretted not buying better rope. And I still could not get my fingers under the rope. I had done too good a job, tied it good and proper, so I had no hope of tearing off the accursed thing. All the while, it became harder and harder to breathe, as my body became my own worst enemy, pulling me down against the rope holding me up.  
  
I struggled for breath, and kicked out my legs, trying to free myself, hoping to reach something that I may anchor myself against, so that I may relax and pull off the rope. But the harder that I struggled, the tighter the noose became. It bit into my neck, and I couldn't even cry out for help. I could feel blood vessels constrict in my throat, and through the pressure of the rope, could feel the pulse of my .  
  
I was choking, and it felt like a cough that I couldn't quite get out. My throat was closed, and I could neither take breath, nor swallow. My eyes were bulging, I was certain, for I could feel them poking out of my sockets. I shut my eyes, for I feared that they may pop out, an odd fear for someone about to die, but something that made sense at the moment. My ears were beginning to whistle, as though I was in a wind tunnel, and I could hear nothing but a thousand tons of air pushing past me.  
  
And all the time, the rope burned against my neck. It chafed against my skin, and it burned like hell's fire. It rolled and unrolled over my skin, as I struggled, but it made little difference, for the rope gave no sign of yielding. And the ceiling fixture, that I had always feared would fall on my head as I was cleaning it, hung as firmly as though it were a part of the entire structure.  
  
My thoughts grew fuzzy, and suddenly, I was merely choking on a bit of meat that had gone the wrong way. And I tried to cough it up, but someone had fixed their thumbs up against my throat. I tried to push them away, but they danced away, and my hands met nothing but air.  
  
My bladder gave way, and then, so did my rectum, and to the acrid smell of my own stench, it all went black...and then, finally, sweet oblivion. 


	3. Silence of the Stabs

The following chapter contains a little blood. So be warned. And it's also about Kikyo. Ok, let me get this through, Kikyo is my favorite female character in the series, if you think otherwise then I'm fine with that. But please, do not flame me because of my likes and dislikes. It's quite immature if some of you have failed to noticed. Now on with the chapter. Read and Review please. **************************************************************************** *  
  
Chapter 2: Silence of the Stabs  
  
The knife rose and fell, and it filled my heart with savage ecstasy. The blood pooled around us, and the crimson flow served only to fuel my fury. Would they ever shut up? Would they never shut up?  
  
Even now, the blood burbled out of the wound, and they made choking noises, as though to tell me that I wasn't doing it right. That I'll never done anything right, and that I wasn't doing this right either.  
  
The knife rose and fell, as I plunged it into them, over and over again, cutting their skin, destroying their features, eradicating any sign that they were any more than lumps of meat. It is justice, is it not? For they never saw me as anything more, either.  
  
And still they gargled their disapproval. Their wounds lay open, exposing their innards to the elements, and yet still they made their noises, as if to say, you see, I told you it would come to this, helping them out, giving him ideas above his station,blah, blah, blah...  
  
For years, their yowling has filled my ears. If it wasn't me, if was someone or something else. The homes were never made well, the village wasn't up to their standards, such and such was insane or corrupt if it wasn't one thing, it was another. And how do you explain to them that it is in the nature of the world to be imperfect? Oh, you dare not point out their own flaws, not if you don't want to hear about their sacrifices and their hopes, and your ingratitude and your failures. Of how you let them down when they had believed in you, and when they had staked so much in your success.  
  
And yet, I was perfect. I was dutiful, and I never questioned. I never spoke my mind, though the serpents twisted and turned restlessly, the beast yearned to be free. I held my tongue; I swallowed my rebuttals, and listened patiently. Until now. Now, the blade speaks, and we all listen.  
  
In and out, the knife flashes, gleaming now, not by polish but by blood. The knife dips in and out, stealing their lives, but not their voices. Not their voices, that bore into me relentlessly, easier than the blade. Why won't they leave me alone?  
  
I can still hear them. I can still hear them, not an incessant buzzing, but individual words. I can hear them reminding me what a failure I am. I can hear them. I can hear them tell me how I've disappointed them. I can hear them complaining of how I've stained their clothes, of how much they had to word, and where they bought such and such, and how you can't even get love like that anymore, and they should like to see me find better hobbys, and they've had to sell so many of the other good ones to pay for my education and on, and on, and on.  
  
There is but one cure. There is only one cure. The blade cleanses, the blade purifies. The blade will save me. The blade will protect me. The blade will silence their voices forever, even as my blood rushes to join theirs. Fitting, as it was always theirs. 


End file.
